One Voice
by h3mlock
Summary: Read it to find out what it's all about. I think it's fairly obvious.


"And now... we reach... our reserved little rocker, Andrew Rogers!" A white flash of pale light would overlap the deep voice. The screen behind the four figures would become alight with images as the story of the singer was told. Images flashed continiously, the boy's voice telling his story as he sat in the warmth of a late-summer setting...

The sounds would blend together, many voices all chattering to the same nervous tone. Some over-exaggerated laughter would cause some relief as the cool air from inside the centre streamed onto the face of a pale, dark haired boy. His silence was oddly deafening, forming an almost forbidden aura about him. He'd blink out the light as he stared to the skies. He was humming quitely to himself and seemed to be thinking deeply. "Another hundred contestants please..." called a brute of a guard inside the glass doors of the massive structure.

Panned view. The Toronto Convention Centre engrossed a grave amount of the exhibition. Other than the long line outside the centre, which was contained within barricades, the place was nearly empty as it was spring. Pan again. Back to the nervous faces filing into the marble-clad air-conditioned entrance hall. Up a humming escalator and into a bright corridor, lined with twenty-foot windows. The teenager tugged at his shirt as he approached a buffet table lined with the typical white-frilled table cloth. The boy's steps would scratch at the predictable maroon carpet below. The pudgy caucasian lady behind the table and in front of the massive windows would push several forms towards him. "Good morning, deary..." her voice would chime, "...nervous?" The boy just nodded and clasped the pen with a clammy hand, beginning to fill out the form with the dark ink. She removed two safety pins and a label for him and then eyed him with a soft smile. She would accept his forms and hand him his number, "Andrew Rogers, you're idol 1107, lucky seven... what are you singing today for the judges?"

The boy'd croak back, his stomach flipping with the anxiety, "Erm... um... a song called Heaven."

The lady would smile, "Care to give me a taste?"

The boy'd bite his lip, knowing if he couldn't do it here he'd never be able to do it for the judges. "Uhm..."

The lady would giggle a little, "It's okay if you don't..."

The boy'd give a shy little smile, "Thanks..." he'd then grab the handle on top of his forest green, square back-pack and follow several others into the holding room ahead.

Entering the large, grand double doors, you could almost smell the tension among the laughter that filled the large room. Ahead of him a group of friends lay among their sleeping bags, squeaking everytime they rolled over in laughter or fidgeted. Many a person sat alone, music playing through the small black instruments in their ears. Andrew didn't plan to do either, he planned to take a seat with another person for support, but he was unsure how he would do so when his tongue was tied like a vicious knot.

He'd move over to a Roman-style pillar and lay his stuff down at the base, looking around. His nerves would pitter at his stomach again. He would snatch a water bottle from his bag and pour half the contents down his throat before talking a long breath. He'd scan the room, casually letting water dribble down his throat. Eyeing the media in the corner of the room with his brown eyes, a tall asian woman clutching a microphone to her mouth in front of a camera. She'd then pull a makeup-bountiful girl towards her. The girl would remove the microphone from her hand and begin to sing. Andrew would roll his eyes, he hated people who were so full of themselves. Andrew was only here for the music.

He loved everything about this show, other than some of the peoples' personalities. Removing a small black book from inside the bag, he'd scratch something down, something unimportant. Then he'd replace the book in the back-pack and grab his walkman, pushing the earphones into his ears and putting on the cd inside, contain twenty-songs that revealed his obsession for a specific band.

As the music flowed through his ears, he would look around the room, watching the line on one side funnel into a seperate room in groups of five. That would be round one of auditions. He'd then watch the room for the people who came out, four of the five going in, came out in tears. One would divulge a blue flyer to a group of supporters. She'd receive several hugs and they'd move from the exit as more people proceeded in. The numbers in line were beginning at 1073, meaning Andrew's audition was a mere twenty minutes or so away.

Andrew squirmed and lifted his walkman, proceeding to a hall behind the massive pillar he had been under. The hall, white and almost asylum-like was silent. Each footstep Andrew took was like a manical laugh at his fear. He'd step into the washroom, going over to the sink, and removing the headphones. Pocketing the walkman now, he'd stare into his own eyes, "Why did we do this again?" his voice cracking and echoing throughout the washroom, "It's not like were going to make it", a desperate tone becoming more apparent now. He continued to talk to himself, banging the sink occasionally, turning on the water and splashing his face.

Finally, about fifteen minutes later, he'd remove himself from the room, colliding with the door on the way out. He'd look over to the line as he'd slump down the pole and back beside his bag. A man with a clipboard and headset would exit from the room, pulling a megaphone from another buffet table. "Contestants 1100 to 1130 please proceed to the back of the line in order, that's contestants..." Andrew had heard enough, he'd leave his stuff at the base of the pillar and wander towards the line. He'd step over several sleeping bodies, trip over the stray legs of monopoly players and nearly knock down a group of card gamers, but when he reached the line he nearly fell over. His nerves were talking hold.

The first five in the line would proceed in, 1100 to 1105. That meant he was next. He had no clue what was going to happen in there. He had read that ultimately, the decision was the producers, so perhaps he could take one look at you and make you go home. '_That's not going to happen to me... I'm not going to let it' _Andrew thought as he listened to the competition taking place inside. A man with a deep voice would yell and a young teenage girl would emerge in a fit of tears from the door. Four remained.

Next the sound of a voice... one person emerged, ticket in hand, smile on their face. Then two others, both out, but neither crying. Finally one would emerged, unknown of the verdict. "Next!" called the same deep voice from inside. All five would proceed in, Andrew's head was swimmng, the man with the headset would pat him on the lightly back, "Good luck guys..." Andrew would smile nervously back and observe his feet as they entered room, flooded with wires, people, chairs but scariest of all was the man standing, arms crossed and with a smug expression, before the far wall.

...flash...


End file.
